


A Fortuitous Alliance

by Doceo_Percepto



Series: Bendy's Murderous Adventure Across Moominvalley [5]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Bestiality?, Comedy??, Gore, Other, The Joxter and Bendy are horrible people, There are lots of Snufkins in this universe, Vore, a bad blowjob, and now they're horrible people working together, but the Joxter is cool with it, dead snufkins, more nature and more rape, nonsurvival fucking, the mystery of snufkin's genitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-16 04:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14156475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doceo_Percepto/pseuds/Doceo_Percepto
Summary: The Joxter meets an ink demon with very similar tastes. They hit it off swimmingly.





	A Fortuitous Alliance

**Author's Note:**

> A picture of monster Bendy can be found on the previous story, A Trip to the Zoo. Otherwise, his normal form is the same cute cartoon version as in his game.
> 
> The Joxter here is colloquially called Lazy Joxter, however that name never actually shows up in any of the stories about him, owing to the fact everyone simply calls him the Joxter.

There was something new in Moominvalley. Something foreign: something that didn’t exactly belong. The Joxter could feel it in the wind, like the prickle under his skin before a thunderstorm. The valley was quiet, and the animals frightened. 

The Joxter lit a pipe, smoked by a marshy riverbed, and wondered what it might be.

 

A few days later, he stumbled across a Snufkin. A dead Snufkin, to be more specific. The living kind were not always so easy to stumble upon, because they were darting and fast and sometimes knew to avoid Joxters.

This one, the Joxter suspected, was darting and fast but not quite fast enough. He smelled very thickly of rot, and was infested with a mass of wriggling bugs. Huge gashes marred his front - from a knife, maybe? No, the wounds came in three parallel lines, likely inflicted at once. “Claws, then,” the Joxter decided. And large ones at that.

Certainly nothing around Moominvalley had claws like that. Nothing around Moominvalley hunted Snufkins, either. Well, except for the occasional Joxter, when they got up the energy to go a-hunting. But this was the work of something else.

The Joxter puffed a ring of smoke from his lips. Interesting. A funny thought struck him, a thought that he expected must be wrong. Only Joxters thought such things of Snufkins, there wouldn’t be any chance…. But still he was deviously curious.

With a tiny smile on his lips, he kicked apart the dead Snufkin’s legs. “Oh!” he exclaimed. Joxters _weren’t_ the only ones who thought such things of Snufkins. Heat settled heavily in his lower abdomen, and tickled at the base of his spine. Delightful. Something had certainly had its way with him. Something that had ripped right into him and torn out flesh as it exited. The Joxter’s tongue lightly touched his lips. 

It would be nice, a very easy fuck, to take seconds. He considered it, for half a second, and then sighed. The smell was much too awful. And he didn’t fancy feeling any of those squirming bugs on himself. If only he’d shown up earlier. 

“You went and met our new guest without introducing me,” the Joxter scolded Snufkin’s corpse. “It seems they would have provided such a show.”

Snufkin said nothing. 

The Joxter frowned, and crouched down. There wasn’t _only_ blood between the Snufkin’s legs. There was something else too, something a deep black color that he had first overlooked. It carried with it an oddly sweet tarry scent, much like old ink, and it was splattered over Snufkins’ thighs and his entire front.

“Maybe I can still meet it, then,” the Joxter thought out loud to himself, for that sickly sweet smell left a faint trail in the wind.

 

For several days, the Joxter leisurely traced the tarry scent. It was faint, barely-there, but Joxters have an incredibly keen sense of smell, and he had no trouble following it, winding through trees and valleys, over rocks and beside cliffs, and ultimately, into a marshy forest.

Whatever the creature was, it meandered without distinct purpose – the Joxter wasn’t sure if it had a destination in mind, or if it simply wandered the way Joxters do. If it did have a destination, then it was quite lost, because there was a great deal of looping back, and hanging around. In all fairness, the Joxter was glad for this, because he wasn’t sure he would gain any ground on it otherwise. 

One evening, very unremarkable from any other evening before it, he napped on a thick-trunked rowan tree for the night, sheltered from a heavy spring rain. When he woke in the morning, the old ink scent hung heavy in the air, much closer than it had been the night before. So too did the scent of mud and bog, and when the Joxter dropped from his tree, his boots sunk a few inches into the mire. Everything in the world was damp, water-sodden, warming beneath the pink-skied morning. 

The Joxter brushed leaves from his coat, and took a few sips from his canteen. He was about to resume his slow hunt when he heard a distorted cry, and a loud splash. Feeling lucky, the Joxter headed straight in that direction, and heard two more distant splashes, and a litany of protests – he was pleased to realize that it sounded like a Snufkin. Finally, there was one sharp scream that cut off abruptly. 

Oh, he hoped he wasn’t missing everything. The Joxter trotted faster, although the mire was deepening, and water lapped at his calves, then at his knees. 

Incoherent whimpers got nearer, nearer. The Joxter stopped once he glimpsed it – it, of course, being the thing that had killed the last Snufkin, and was well on its way to killing another.

The Joxter knew right away that it was a demon, or a monster: something that did not belong in Moominvalley, and most certainly did not originate from there. Something that most likely belonged in hell. Lucky for the Joxter’s voyeurism (and the monster’s freedom), there was no justice like that in this world. And, quite uninhibited, quite free, the monster was magnificently large, with teeth bared in a rictus grin, and every inch of its lithe body oozing and dripping with ink that swirled when it struck the muddy water. 

The Snufkin unfortunately situated between its legs had seen better days, for he was elbow deep in the bog, and violent gouges were ripped into his sides and back, visible through the tatters of his coat (likely from escape attempts, that pesky Snufkin). 

It seemed that the Joxter had arrived just in time to see the end of the event. 

A thorn-ridden dick connected the two, buried deep enough inside to rupture several organs. Or so the Joxter assumed, judging by the deep purple bruising spattered over Snufkin’s belly, and the thick globs of ink and bloody flesh trailing down his inner thighs and diffusing into the water. The noise alone was wet, filthy, as it screwed Snufkin like a mindless animal, ferociously chasing its own pleasure at the expense of Snufkin’s life. How refreshing to see such primal and cruel behavior in a place like Moominvalley, where everybody asked permission and nobody took what wasn’t theirs. 

One clawed paw slammed down onto Snufkin’s shoulder, and his face was shoved under the water with a splash: head down, ass up. The Joxter watched with fascination as Snufkin convulsed like some kind of limp doll. It must be dreadfully terrifying, to be almost fucked in half while drowning. The Joxter just couldn’t help rubbing himself through his pants. 

Meanwhile, the monster was losing any semblance of a rhythm. It pushed itself flush to Snufkin’s thighs and twitched in shallow, jerky thrusts, tiny shivers beginning to rack through its body. Then, buried deep, tense as a board, it went completely still. Its tail flagged once, twice… thrice. 

The Joxter was a bit disappointed, as he himself had barely gotten started on reaching his own climax. Nonetheless, the monster was undoubtedly finished. Its entire body had gone lax and extra drippy, and its tail was dipping down into the shallow waters. Finally, it shifted its paw off Snufkin’s head – the poor Snufkin reared out of the water with a huge, heaving gasp and then panted for precious air, eyes closed, drooling saliva and blood from his open mouth.

How exquisite. The Joxter couldn’t help the soft moan that came from his throat.

“Hshh!” The monster jumped, gangly legs scrambled, Snufkin let out a tortured shriek as the spiny dick was ripped very abruptly out of him. 

“Ah, ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the Joxter apologized, very sincerely, because it was rude to interrupt postcoital bliss.

The monster pulled back its lips to show knife-like teeth. Undeterred, the Joxter began to slog towards Snufkin. “I’m here for the same reason as you. I assume you’re done? Then I do hope it’s okay if I take over.”

The monster, perhaps more out of confusion than anything else, took several splashing steps back. Once he was satisfied the monster didn’t intend on mauling him, the Joxter turned to Snufkin. “Hullo, love.”

Snufkin was uncontrollably shivering as if hypothermic, his bottom lip quivering and drooling. His grubby fingers pawed at the Joxter’s front. Pain-glazed eyes pleaded for mercy, for relief. “P-papa, papa, help me…”

“Shhh…. It’s all right, dear….” He cradled Snufkins jaw with one hand; with the other he extricated himself from his pants. “Your papa’s got you now; you’re safe…”

Snufkin flinched away, “n-no, papa-“ but he was blessedly weak with blood loss and pain. The Joxter pried apart his jaws and slide himself into Snufkin’s slick mouth. Much unlike the monster, the Joxter took his time, and went slow and patiently, letting the pleasure build as he fucked his son’s throat. It was several minutes later that his orgasm rippled through him in soft waves; the Joxter sighed deeply and closed his eyes, letting his tongue lightly touch his lips. 

The monster burst out with an awful choked laughing noise, and the Joxter frowned. Now that seemed wholly inappropriate. 

Then, as the Joxter gazed disapprovingly at it, the creature’s skin seemed to melt; its laugh distorted and warbled as its limbs collapsed, and its body shrank and reformed until there was one very small thing standing there thigh deep in the water, all round edges but for his horns, with a bow-tie and gloves and pie-cut eyes. The thing was currently clutching its stomach and laughing so hard that the Joxter was amazed it didn’t laugh out a lung or two.

“That’s really enough,” the Joxter said, tucking himself neatly back in his pants and patting down his clothes. He was wholly unruffled by the transformation, as he’d seen a great many creatures in all his journeys, and it was inevitable he’d come across a shapeshifting one sooner or later.

Snufkin’s eyes traveled between the two of them, breaths like rattling pipes. His pupils were blown wide, the poor thing, probably in so much pain. “Keep yourself clean, now,” the Joxter scolded, wiping a dribble of cum from Snufkin’s parted lips. Then, directed at the shape-shifter, “do you ever stop laughing?” 

“Hoo, man! You just surprised me! I mean, I thought you were going to chase me off and do the whole “oh no, monster attacking an innocent boy, pitchforks, rahg!” But – but you just –“ a girlish giggle bubbled up from its throat. “I mean, I’m impressed, really. You're really twisted!”

What an awful lot of words. 

“I’m Bendy, by the way. Hilarious to meet someone who – well - ” Bendy made a lewd gesture with his fingers and then pointed at Snufkin. 

“The Joxter.”

“You look a lot alike,” Bendy remarked. “He called you papa - but you couldn’t really be his dad, right?”

That was a good question. The Joxter knew that at least one Snufkin was his son, while the other Snufkins were offspring of other Joxters and Mymbles. But he didn’t actually know which Snufkin was his blood – maybe this was his own son, maybe not, but the Joxter wouldn’t be able to tell one way or another. “He might be,” the Joxter answered. “He might not be. Not all Snufkins are mine, see. Most of them aren’t.”

“Snufkins?” Bendy repeated.

“Mhmm. I can see you already found out what they’re good for.”

“Sure, but…” Bendy’s tail flicked and he frowned at the Snufkin. “I don’t understand; they’re all named Snufkin?”

“They’re all Snufkins.” The Joxter followed Bendy’s gaze. “Ah, poor dear…” The Snufkin wasn’t looking very good; his breaths were coming short and fast, and his eyes were glazed. The Joxter wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t absorbing a single word of the conversation. “Snufkins are born of Joxters and Mymbles,” the Joxter added, as he petted Snufkin’s hair. 

“And you’re a Joxter?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Weird.”

“And where do you come from?” the Joxter asked. 

“Like-?” he glanced between his legs.

“Who were your parents?” the Joxter corrected himself.

“Oh. I don’t have parents. Unless you count…” Bendy gritted his teeth, and finished with an edge in his tone, “Look, I don’t have parents. But… I came from an animation studio.”

“What’s an animation studio?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. It will give you the worst existential crisis. Anyway, it was no walk in the park. I left to figure out what other worlds I could go to, just to have fun. Gotta say, this is the best one I’ve found so far.” 

“Huh.” The Joxter spent a moment prying apart the meaning in those words, and then decided it was indeed best not to know. He tucked his paws into his pockets and smiled cordially. “Welcome to Moominvalley, then. What were you going to do next?” 

Bendy scratched the back of his head. “Well, I was going to eat him.”

“Ah.”

“I mean, it’s not like he’s going to live anyway,” Bendy said, appearing nervous. “With those injuries – it’s doing him a kindness, really-“

“No, no, it’s very practical,” the Joxter replied, not wanting Bendy to get the wrong idea. “Very clean. I’ve always had some trouble with the bodies. It’s such work to hide them.”

“Right? It’s just practical, like you said!”

The Joxter nodded.

“Sooo….” Bendy’s eyes flicked to Snufkin and back. “Can I….?”

“Oh! By all means!” The Joxter waved invitingly. 

Snufkin seemed to get some idea of danger through his pain-hazed mind. “Papa, don’t…” he whispered, weak as a thin breeze. 

“Don’t be impolite. Everything must eat to live.”

“I actually don’t,” Bendy commented, a second before transforming into his monstrous ink-dripping form. Bendy’s mouth opened impossibly wide, baring enormous teeth and a black, saliva-lathered tongue. 

“Oh?” The Joxter said with interest. “Well still, you ought not deny people meals they’re promised.” 

The Snufkin didn’t really get a chance to reply, as that long tongue wrapped around his head, and razor-like teeth gouged into his upper chest and spine. His legs stupidly jerked and splashed as nerves tore. It was all very repulsive and undignified. Admittedly, the Joxter’s stomach churned a little when Bendy literally bit off more than he could chew, and ended up regurgitating half his bite. This didn’t seem to deter him in the long run, as he went right back at the activity, this time with more chewing. The Joxter had never been so familiar with what the insides of a Snufkin looked like, all shredded apart and bitten into wet chunks of red bloated meat, while his bones splintered and the rest of his body looked fake, unreal, little more than a limp puppet. 

The sloshing water quickly turned a murky red, and the Joxter frowned. This could ruin his boots. He didn’t think that Bendy was going to be so messy about it. The Joxter took a few steps back, but didn’t think it made a whole lot of a difference, especially not when Bendy started to shake the remainder of Snufkin’s corpse like a dog. 

“Bendy,” the Joxter said, pained.

The demon paused. Ink, blood, and water dripped and plinked. Then, a little more modestly, he quietly swallowed down all that was left of Snufkin. He let out a soft huffing noise that the Joxter assumed must indicate pleasure. 

“If you’re done then-“ The Joxter turned and started to trudge his way out of the soupy reddish water. 

A pause, then, “wait!” and much smaller legs splashed through the bog. The Joxter stopped and glanced back. The little demon looked much messier, with blood dripping from his mouth and down his entire front, and he seemed to be struggling to walk through the mire.

“I’m getting out of the water,” the Joxter said matter-of-factly. 

“Well, I want to, too.” Bendy grabbed the hem of the Joxter’s overcoat, and then proceeded to climb his way up before the Joxter could really protest. 

“You’re covered in blood.”

“You’ve already got it all over your legs, anyway; this isn’t making much of a difference.” Bendy’s legs slipped as he tried to perch on the Joxter’s shoulder, and he bumped into the Joxter’s head.

“Stop, stop-“ the Joxter yanked Bendy down by his leg, and the demon plopped into his waiting arms. 

“Oh.” His little tail coiled around the Joxter’s arm.

“It’s only an hour or so until the water clears up,” the Joxter told him. “It’s not any trouble.” And then he resumed walking away, wondering how difficult it might be to rinse out his pants and boots and get all the blood off. 

Bendy emitted a noise that resembled a purr – he really could be very cat-like, the Joxter thought. And he didn’t feel sticky and wet like ink – at least, not in this form. Joxter scratched behind his horns thoughtfully, and Bendy leaned into the touch. Spoiled. He would get to nap while the Joxter walked through muddy water. Even so, the Joxter found he couldn’t get too angry. It was nice to know that someone other than Joxters knew the right things to enjoy in life. Snufkins had certainly turned out to be disappointing - at least in that regard - with all their moral hang-ups. 

The Joxter made a contemplative humming noise. “Can you catch them easily?” 

“Hmm?” Bendy pawed after the Joxter's hand, which had the nerve to stop petting him.

“Snufkins.”

“Oh. Sure, once I can find them. Easy peasy."

Joxter tilted his head to the side. He himself liked to enjoy a Snufkin, when the fancy struck him. But they were such a squirrely bunch, and it often took a wealth of resources and time to actually catch one. Sometimes they fought back and yowled, too, and that was such a pain. “I know where some of them are,” the Joxter said.

“Really?”

“Joxters are very good at knowing where Snufkins are,” the Joxter continued, “but catching them can be troublesome… Sometimes more work than it’s worth…”

Bendy’s eyes lit up as he understood, and he grinned nastily up at the Joxter. "Maybe we can get something worked out."

 

The Joxter lay nestled in a bed of mauve kidneyworts, cheek reclining in his arms. Three days had passed since the events in the mire. He had since found dry land, and a clean creek in which to wash and scrub out his overcoat, pants and boots. Those items had then spent two days drying in the sun, before the Joxter tugged them back on.

He’d sent Bendy out to find a Snufkin – one that had previously been troublesome for the Joxter, as he had kicked and scratched and fought the last time the Joxter had gotten ahold of him. It seemed like an appropriate punishment, to set Bendy after him. The demon could do the hard work of subduing such a flighty little Snufkin. 

The Joxter yawned wide, and smiled. He prodded one purple flower, flicked it, nuzzled it with his finger. He liked the way the petals closed around his fingertip when he prodded its very center. It was in the middle of this task when he heard the light long-strided footsteps that couldn’t be mistaken for any other animal. Bendy was huge in that form, but he moved delicately, quiet as a cat. Joxter lifted his head. Sure enough, the ink demon was returning, a sad maimed little thing held in his teeth.

“Is he dead?” the Joxter inquired with disapproval. 

In response, Bendy lowered his head and let Snufkin roll to the ground beside the Joxter’s bed of flowers. Up close, the Joxter could see that Snufkin was indeed breathing, albeit feebly. He was deathly pale and bleeding from several bites and scratches, but alive. 

While the Joxter admired his new prize, Bendy changed back to his normal form. “I’m not that clumsy. I know you don’t want him dead right away.”

“Ah, that’s right.” The Joxter drew up Snufkin’s overcoat and felt between his legs – Snufkin squeaked and twitched, his first signs of consciousness. 

“You didn’t fuck him, either,” the Joxter said thoughtfully.

“Nah. Wanted to show my gratitude for this whole deal we got worked out.”

“I don’t mind seconds, but this is nice, too.” The Joxter tugged Snufkin into his bed of wildflowers and curled around him affectionately. His hair was so very soft to nuzzle, his body so very warm and gentle.

Snufkin opened his beautiful sad blue eyes, which immediately were filled with distress.

“Shhh, it’s all right,” the Joxter murmured, massaging his calloused hand up and down Snufkin’s tiny trembling arms.

“Joxter?” the Snufkin breathed, soft as silk. 

“Yes, love?”

“Where…?” Snufkin’s eyes roved. When he glimpsed Bendy, he tensed. “P-papa, that thing-“

“I know, dear… I’ll keep you safe.” The Joxter gently caged him in with his arms and legs, and held him down with his own weight. It was nice, he decided, that the Snufkin was already weakened by wounds and blood loss. It made his protests much feebler. Made him teasing rather than troublesome. 

The Joxter’s whiskers brushed over Snufkin’s face. He was aware of Bendy watching, but didn’t mind. The demon understood the right things to appreciate about a Snufkin.

“Wh-what are you doing?” the Snufkin whispered. How appealing, to see his pretty blue eyes realize that the Joxter might be no safer.

“Why, I’m going to kiss you.” 

“Whu-?” The Joxter cupped his paws over Snufkin’s cheeks, and pressed their lips together. 

“Mfh!” Snufkin jerked his head to the side. How rebelliously tedious. The Joxter forced him into another a kiss. Snufkins were just awful about kissing, but the Joxter supposed that was part of the appeal. If you wanted good kissers, you ought to go to Mymbles, because they were very learned all the ways of one’s body. 

Still, these kisses weren’t doing much for him. The Joxter abandoned them in favor of gently rolling his hips, and nibbling down the length of Snufkin's pale throat. Oh, the rumpled fabric between them teased him so. 

The afternoon was warm, the breeze pleasant and tickling at the back of Joxter’s neck. He was quite happy to take things slow. Lazy, rolling thrusts kept him teased. At one point, Snufkin began to cry, and the Joxter tasted his tears with a shiver of pleasure. 

After a certain time, Snufkin seemed to be hardly conscious, and hardly aware of his surroundings. It some while after that that the Joxter’s thighs twitched and milky cum dribbled onto Snufkin’s overcoat.

Sighing, the Joxter closed his eyes, and cuddled close to Snufkin. Now sated, it was the perfect time for a nap. 

 

It could not have been even ten minutes into his nap when the Joxter was rudely awoken. A large clawed paw was nudging at his side – a very inky paw. Bendy must be hungry. Or just wanted to eat Snufkin for the sheer pleasure of it: the Joxter was relatively certain Bendy only ate for fun. 

Either way, it was not meal time. The Joxter emitted an unhappy growly noise and curled around the very motionless, possibly-not-breathing Snufkin under him. 

Bendy prodded at his ribs, harder this time – downright uncomfortable, in fact, hard enough to hurt a little. 

“No,” the Joxter retorted, clinging to his Snufkin. 

Bendy let out an irritated snarl. Thick claws popped into the flesh of Snufkin’s upper arm as Bendy tried to drag Snufkin out from under the Joxter. Now that, that was especially not okay. 

“ _No,_ ” the Joxter repeated firmly, and clamped his teeth around Bendy’s ankle – he almost immediately regretted this action, which resulted in ink gritting between his teeth, but it at least achieved the desired effect of shooing off the demon.

The Joxter spat and grumbled, nuzzling his cheek against the soft plump cheek of Snufkin. Comfortable. Not ready for eating yet.

Grumbling, Bendy moved away. 

Good. He needed to learn that the Joxter wasn’t going to let his Snufkins get eaten until he was good and ready for them to be. Smiling contently, the Joxter slipped back into sleep.

 

When the Joxter next woke, Snufkin’s skin was cold, and his body stiff. This combined with the chillier evening air led to an altogether unpleasant experience – not to mention Snufkin was starting to smell a bit off.

Groaning, the Joxter rolled off him and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. At the other end of the clearing, Bendy lifted his head from his paws.

The Joxter yawned wide. “Still hungry?”

Bendy stood up, tail flicking excitedly, and the Joxter chuckled. “All right, go on. He’s gross now.”

It took only two strides for Bendy to cross the clearing, and his mouth eagerly opened, knife-like teeth dripping ink. 

The Joxter didn’t feel especially inclined to watch, not after the first time, so he leisurely wandered a good ten feet away, and lit his pipe. He let little smoke rings puff out into the air, and listened to the crunching of bones and the wet, slick sound of tearing meat.

Working with Bendy had turned out to be a marvelous idea after all.


End file.
